


The Adventures Of A Renegade Known As The Artist

by nbtenouharuka



Series: NaNoWriMo 2018 [2]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alien Culture, Angst, Chameleon Arch, Cute, Friendship, Gen, I wrote these for NaNo too, all of that fun stuff, and willow is good an supportive, misc drabbles, no one really cares but I'm posting this bc I can, so it's in that series, the artist is just a kid trying to pretend to be human, theres some angst as well, uh, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-09-06 12:29:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16832641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nbtenouharuka/pseuds/nbtenouharuka
Summary: Just some misc drabbles of my renegade oc and their friend Willow!





	1. The One Where The Artist Goes To a Banquet

**Author's Note:**

> It is the year of our lord two thousand and eighteen I've been in this fandom for six years I am entitled to at least one (1) self insert

“So, this is the mysterious roommate, huh?” James leaned on the table, intrigued. Willow hardly talked about her roommate, but from what he heard they were... odd.

  
  
“Uh, yeah.” They said, squirming in their chair. They were wearing the loudest and most tacky blazer James had ever seen, and to a black tie event, no less!

  
“What’s your name?”

  
“Fredward Benson.” They blurted out.

  
“Like the dude from _iCarly_ ?”

  
The roommate leaned forward and pointed their finger in a finger gun awkwardly.

  
“ _yes_ .”

  
Willow rolled her eyes.

  
“They’re fucking with you. Their name is... Nina.”

  
James looked over at the roommate for confirmation.

  
“Yes. That is my name. Nina.”

  
“Well, it’s nice to finally meet you, Nina. I’m James. Willow and I are lab partners.”

Nina nodded.  
  
“Neat-o.”  
  
They sat there awkwardly for a second before taking a large sketchbook out of the inside pocket of their blazer (how’d that even fit in there...?) and began to draw.  
  
James looked over at what they were drawing and saw a busy page full of skateboarding birds and neat looking aliens.  
  
“Oh, cool! You’re really good! How long have you been drawing?”  
  
“Oh, a hhhhhhh-“  
  
They drew out the “h” as they looked over somewhere (James was almost positive it was at Willow) and then back at their work.  
  
“-hella long time. A hella long time.”  
  
———  
  
“Aw, fuck!” Nina yelled, hand up on their face. “One of their darts nicked me!”  
  
“Artist, we need to keep going, they’re going to catch up,” willow yelled.  
  
The three of them turned a corner to find an open pair of fire doors. Quickly, they ran through and closed and locked them securely.  
  
“Aw, shit. Fuck. It stings.”  
  
James turned towards Nina’s voice. They were sitting on the floor now, still clutching the cut on their face.  
  
“Willow, how bad does it look?”  
  
Nina’s hand fell away from the wound on their face, and James looked on in confusion.  
  
“Was there paint in those darts or something?” He said, walking over to the artist to get a better look at their face. Instead of blood covering their face, there was a deep rusty orange substance.  
  
Nina looked at Willow, then back at James.  
  
“James, uh, I don’t know how to tell you this...”  
  
“Tell me what? Are you finally gonna tell me what those *things*,” he gestured to the fire doors, indicating whatever had just been firing darts at them, “even are?”  
  
“One thing at a time, James.” Nina sighed.  
  
“First things first, this isn’t paint. I got cut, and I’m bleeding.”

  
  
James looked at Nina, and then at Willow, begging for them to explain.

  
  
“That’s not fucking blood, Nina. It’s orange.”

  
  
“Yeah? So?”

“What do you mean? Blood isn’t fucking _orange_.”

“Mine is.”

“The _fuck_ do you mean your blood is orange? Human blood isn’t orange!”

“Yeah, exactly.”

James stood there in silence for a moment, processing what Nina had just said.

“You’re fucking with me again, right?” he looked over at Willow. “They’re fucking with me, right?”

Willow shook her head. “No, no they’re being serious.”

“Nina, are you telling me you aren’t human?”

“Uhhh, Yeah. Also, Nina isnt my name.”

“What, what the fuck?” He looked back and forth at from Willow to not-Nina and back to Willow, looking for any hint of sarcasm.

“What’s your real name then?”

“The Artist.”

“That’s not a fucking name!”

Not-Nina (The Artist?) looked at him, offended.

“Of course it’s a name! It’s _my_ name!”

“So you’re telling me you’re not human, and your name is _The Artist_?”

“Yeah? I thought I was being clear.”

“I don’t- You’ve _gotta_ be fucking with me.”

“Do you want more proof?”

James looked at “The Artist” for a moment. Brow furrowed.

“Sure. fine. What kind of proof can you offer?”

“The Artist” stood up, wiping their hands on their pants.

“Okay, Give me your hands.”

James looked over at Willow, who nodded encouragingly. He offered his hands to them, and “The Artist” grabbed them with their own cold hands and lifted one of them to the left side of their chest.

“You feel that?”

James frowned, confused. They felt a slow _buh-thump_ beating under their ribcage.

“Yeah, it’s your heartbeat.”

The artist nodded.

“Good,” they lifted james other hand and set it on the other side of their chest.

“Now, do you feel _that_?”

James was confused on what they meant for a moment before he felt it. Each of his hands felt a separate rhythm. Two heartbeats.

Two hearts.

“Holy shit…”

The Artist grinned, and James suddenly realized why Willow never went into too much detail about what her roommate was like.

“I know it’s a lot, but we don’t have much time,” Willow said, crossing the hallway and placing a hand on James’ shoulder, “We need to find a way out of here.”

James nodded mutely, still a little in shock.

The artist dropped his hands, and they fell limply at his side.

“I promise I can answer any questions you have, but you’ll have to wait until this is over to ask them,” The Artist said, looking at James sincerely.

“Just trust me.”

\---

The three friends were in Willow’s car, disheveled and completely exhausted, on the way back to Willow’s apartment. James looked in the rear-view mirror at The Artist, who was laying across the backseat, still as a corpse. He couldn’t even tell if they were breathing.

“It’s a healing coma.” Willow said, as if she had read his mind. “The fall from the roof did quite a lot of damage, so they need to focus all of their energy on healing their wounds. They’ll wake up in a few hours.”

James nodded. It was so surreal, all of this. Being attacked by alien bounty hunters, finding out that your lab partner’s roommate is an alien, nearly getting killed several times…

“I know it’s a lot. It took me a while to adjust, too.” Willow said, not taking her eyes off the road. “For a while everything seems completely normal, but then they’ll do something so strange, so weird, that it just hits you again that they’re _from another planet._ But after a while it becomes a fact to you, and you aren’t surprised anymore.”

\---

James was making coffee in the kitchen when The Artist woke up from their healing coma. He watched as they sat up and stretched, as if they hadn’t just fallen from three stories up and had only taken a quick nap.

Their gaze moved over to him, and they smiled.

“Hey, James. You spending the night here?”

It took James a few seconds to find the words.

“Yeah, yeah I am.”

“It’s three fourteen in the morning, shouldn’t you be asleep?”

James was a little confused at that statement, as he was sure there were no clocks within The Artist’s view.

“Yeah, I should, but I couldn’t.”

The Artist nodded. “Yeah, that happens to Willow sometimes. It’s weird how involuntary sleep is for humans. You don’t get much choice on if you fall asleep or not.”

James nodded, still a little weirded out by The Artist referring to humans as if they weren’t one ( _they_ aren’t _,_ he reminds himself).

“Anywho, I promised to answer any questions you had, didn’t I?” They patted the spot on the couch next to them. “Come here, I’ve got your answers.”


	2. The One Where They Steal A TARDIS

“Jesus, Artist! Where the hell have you been?”

Willow pulled her jacket closer to her body fruitlessly, the cold rain soaking her to the bone and chilling her to the core. She walked over to the Artist’s silhouette, which was standing under a tree.

“I’ve been on Gallifrey. Just a quick visit.”

“It’s been three months!”

“Oh. Longer trip then.”

At this point, both of them were completely soaked. Willow was blinking constantly, trying to keep the tireless downpour out of her eyes.

“Why did you leave? I thought-” Willow took a deep breath. “I thought I’d done something wrong.”

The Artist’s face shifted from smug to worried. “No! Willow, holy shit, no. You did nothing wrong. I’m just fucking awful at flying this thing, I couldn't get the time right. I was meaning to get there a few moments after I left…”

“You’re awful at flying…” Willow looked at The Artist. “Flying what?”

The artist knocked on the tree behind them. “My new TARDIS, of course.” 

“You flew a tree through space?”

“No, no. It only looks like a tree. It’s got a chameleon circuit. Helps it blend in.”

“And you… bought it?”

The Artist looked at her, confused. “You don’t buy a TARDIS, they’re awarded to you.”

“So this TARDIS was awarded to you, then?”

The artist stood there for a moment, not answering. After a few seconds, they responded with a “No…”, avoiding eye contact with Willow.

Willow rolled her eyes and wiped her face with her sleeve, trying to get the rain off of her. “Could I come in? I’d like to not be out in this weather anymore.”

The artist’s face lit up and they pushed against the trunk of the tree to reveal a well-disguised door. It opened, spreading a golden glow through the darkened park. 

“Come on in.”


	3. The One Where They're Homesick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hm this is short but. idc

Willow stumbled, bleary eyed, through the darkened apartment. She opened the fridge, squinting at the sudden increase of light, and grabbed a bottle of water. Glancing at the microwave, she saw it was 2:05 am.

Willow jumped a bit when she heard a sudden noise come from the other room. She stood there for a while, listening to whatever it was, until she realized it was someone crying. She blinked a few times, still half asleep, before she realized what that meant.

The Artist was crying.

Willow shut the door to the fridge, plunging the kitchen into darkness, and made her way down the hallway and to the Artist’s room, standing in front of the doorway.

“Hey, Artist?”

She hears them sniff and take a deep breath.

“Yes?”

“Can I come in?”

The Artist was silent for a few seconds.

“Sure.”

Willow opened the door and looked inside. The Artist was sitting in the space between their bed and their bookshelf. They had obviously been crying, if their puffy eyes and red nose were anything to go by. Scattered around them were different sheets of watercolor paper and their paints. 

“Are you alright?” Willow asked, walking over to them and sitting on their bed.

“‘M fine.”

Willow wasn’t convinced, but she let it slide.

“What have you been painting?”

The Artist took one of the sheets of paper and handed it to Willow. Depicted on it was a landscape, but it was unlike any Willow had ever seen before. Rolling hills of red grass were spread out under an orange sky, and silver trees were scattered along the landscape.

Willow knew immediately what it was.

“Is this Gallifrey?”

“Yeah.”

Willow looked up from the painting and back at The Artist, and it suddenly hit her that they were homesick. For whatever reason, she never thought about how leaving their entire world behind would affect The Artist. But they must have had family and friends, a house they grew up in, an entire life…

Willow was pulled from her thoughts when she heard The Artist crying again.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m here.” Willow got off from the bed and took The Artist into a tight, comforting embrace.

“I’m not going anywhere.”


	4. The one where they get drunk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Artist goes to a party with Willow and eats some ginger. They get wasted.

Willow stumbled up the stairs to her apartment, stumbling under the Artist’s weight. They both had just attended a party, and while Willow made absolutely sure there wasn't  _ any _ Gingerbread, she forgot to account for the pulled ginger that came with the sushi platter.

And now the Artist was  _ completely _ wasted.

“Hmmm, that was fun…” The artist hiccuped, “I needta eat sushi again. Hmmm, it tasted good.” They stumbled a bit, and Willow almost lost her balance.

“Jesus, slow down…” Willow could see their apartment door now, and she fumbled with her keys, trying to find the right one.

“No, Willow, lemme get it…” The Artist took their arm off of Willow’s shoulders and stumbled over to the door with a look of concentration on their face.

“I just gotta… do the thing…”

Willow sighed and continued to look for her house key on the mess of her keychain.

“Artist, you can’t just open a door by looking-”

Something in the air shifted, and suddenly the door was open, as if it had always been that way.

“-at it.”

Willow shook her head, figuring this was just another weird time lord thing.

“Come on, let's get you sobered up.”

\---

Willow eventually got the artist to their bed after what seemed like an  _ eternity _ . They laid there, their dark hair obscuring most of their face and their Hawaiian shirt untied and loose.

“Hmmm. Willow. I wanna tell you somethin’”

Willow looked down at the time lord and raised an eyebrow.

“What is it?”

“Did you know you’re really pretty?” The Artist raised their hand lazily as if to gesture towards her. “You have a good face. I hope you don’t change it soon. I like it.”

Willow laughed. “I’m not gonna change my face, I promise.”

The Artist let their arm fall back down onto the mattress. “Good. you’re a really good human, Willow. You’re really nice. I just want to sit with you sometimes. Just fucking…” they moved their arms as if to represent something, “talk.”   
  


“I like to sit with you, too. Now, it’s time to sleep, okay?”

The Artist hummed. “Hmmm. Yeah. I need to do that…” they closed their eyes.

“Did you know you’re my bestest, most closest friend, Willow? I love ya so much…” They were on the edge of unconsciousness, Willow could tell. She smiled.

“I love you too. Goodnight.”


	5. The One Where They Become Human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While being hunted by the CIA, The Artist decides to hide as best as they can.  
> This is part one, I'll post part two... sometime.

THE FOLLOWING IS THE TRANSCRIPT OF A VIDEO LEFT BY THE ARTIST TO WILLOW ON THE EVENT OF THEM TURNING THEMSELF HUMAN VIA CHAMELEON ARCH.

[ARTIST]: Is this- it’s on, right? Uh- [THEY LOOK AT SOMETHING BELOW THE CAMERA, SQUINTING] red light means- yeah. [THEY CLEAR THEIR THROAT]

I just. Fuck. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, Willow. I need to hide- I- the CIA can track my biological signature and my telepathic signature… I need to- hide. In a efficient way. I need to become human. I won’t be me- per se- when I’m human. And, god, Willow, I’m so fucking sorry. God I- [A RUSTLING NOISE IS HEARD AS THEY GRAB A FEW SHEETS OF LOOSE-LEAF NOTEBOOK PAPER] I need to... Give you the rules.

First thing’s first, after the… [THEIR EXPRESSION BECOMES SLIGHTLY PAINED, AS IF THEY ARE AFRAID] after the process is complete, you’re going to have to get me back to the apartment- I’ll be unconscious. Tell me- [THEY FURROW THEIR BROW] tell them- that they got drunk last night or something. Just write all the side-effects off as a hangover. 

Two, don’t mention any… alien things. A few slip-ups is… all right. I- they might not respond if you mention that kind of stuff, though, so don’t be alarmed if that happens. 

Three. Do not bring them into the TARDIS unless there’s an emergency. I’ve set up a failsafe for the lock to break when they go in here. Speaking of- it’s not going to be pretty when I come back- I set the biolock to break first- I [THEY PUT THEIR HEAD IN THEIR HANDS] God- I just wanted to make sure I didn’t kill myself coming back- [THEY LEAN BACK AND TAKE A SHAKY BREATH, AS IF HOLDING BACK TEARS] I’m so, so sorry- 

[THEY GATHER THEMSELF, WIPE THEIR FACE, AND CONTINUE] I set the biolock to break first- I don’t want there to be any chance of my big time-lordy brain being in a human body- that would be…

[THEY SHAKE THEIR HEAD] Back to the point. I need you to keep them calm before they… before I come back. It’ll be really shocking for them to suddenly… change like that. Just- make them comfortable. Please.

This whole thing shouldn’t have to go on for more than a year. When the year’s up, I’ll be back. Just, please- wait for me. I’m sorry I have to do this- I’m really sorry.

And, one last thing. To the human me. I- [THEY TRAIL OFF, TRYING TO FIND THE WORDS] I’m sorry. 

[VIDEO ENDS]


End file.
